


The Bicycle Effect

by Bennyhatter



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Other, Begging, Biting, F/F, F/M, I have no excuses, M/M, Multi, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rough Sex, There's gonna be a lot more, gift!fics, prompts, tags will be updated with chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: In which the author writes random, out-there pairings spanning pretty much every character in The Walking Dead. Some are from my own brain, and others are prompts for people. If you would like to prompt something, feel free! Consider it an early Christmas present - anything goes!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much what the summary says, haha
> 
> This first prompt is for kittysaurus, who is a dear and a darling and asked so very nicely for Shane/Jesus, in which Jesus was _wrecked_ by Shane. So... here you are. Enjoy, my light.  <3
> 
> Everything is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Have at it, y'all!

"Why do you wear that damn thing all the time?"

 

Jesus looks at Shane, eyebrows raised and his mouth twisted into a wry smirk.

 

"Gotta hide the weapons somehow," he replies easily. Shames face screams his disbelief as loud as a trumpet, and Jesus grins wider as he starts to turn away. The question came from out of the blue, and to be fair, it is a valid one. It's almost eighty degrees out today, and everyone has shucked at least one layer in some way to combat the rising humidity. Shane himself is shirtless, and Jesus watches the droplets of sweat bead along his fucking perfect collarbones and tries not to lick his lips.

 

From the moment he found the ex-sheriff wandering around the Virginian woods, delusional from fever and a series of infected wounds, Jesus has had some less than pure thoughts about the man. Even hallucinating and burning up, with no guarantee if he'd survive - or how he'd managed to live long enough in the first place - he'd been an appetizing specimen purely for his will to keep fighting to stay alive. He'd taken out a few men before Jesus had subdued him, ranting and raving about a farm and walkers.

 

Jesus had asked him once, after his wounds were treated and slowly becoming nothing more than scars. Shane had muttered something about pride and betrayal, and the anguish of his face had been intense enough that he hasn't asked since.

 

Shane grabs his bicep; the press of the man's fingers just shy of painful. "Got somethin' you gotta hide?" he asks seriously. Jesus snorts and tries to shake his arm free. It just makes the older man hold on tighter, until a quiet hiss of pain clears away some of the darkness that's begun clouding Shane’s brown eyes.

 

"Shit, sorry man."

 

"It's fine." Jesus fixes his trench coat and starts peeling off his gloves. "I don't really have anything to hide," he adds as he tucks them away in one of his many pockets. "It's just a comfortable coat."

 

"Uh huh." Shane doesn't look convinced, and before Jesus can try to leave again, fingers curl in the collar of his coat and he finds himself being hauled to a secluded corner of Hilltop. He could break free if he wanted to, but Shane’s fingers are brushing against the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. His abdomen clenches, warmth tingling through his lower belly, and he's trying to keep his expression blank until he's pressed face-first against a shaded brick wall and Shane’s hot, damp breath is ghosting across his cheek.

 

"You wanna try that again, kid?"

 

"Not a kid," Jesus grits out. "Let go, Shane. I _will_ make you."

 

"Sure you will," the man chuckles in his ear. "You got a pretty good poker face, I'll give you that, but I'm a cop, Rovia. I notice shit. Like how you look at me like you wanna eat me." He presses closer, his groin snug against the swell of Jesus' ass with nothing but a few layers keeping them apart. "Or like you want me to eat _you_."

 

"Fuck," Jesus hisses. He digs his nails into the cool bricks until it hurts, grinding his teeth and shuddering at the way Shane’s voice dips into a low, husky timber that vibrates across his nerves. His skin feels tight and raw, like he stood too close to a fire for too long. When long, thick fingers tangle in his hair and yank his head back, he can't stop the thin whine that slips past his lips.

 

"That a yes or a no, boy?"

 

" _Yes_." Pressing his ass back against Shane’s confined cock, Jesus rolls his hips in a suggestive grind that makes the older man growl low in his throat. "Gonna arrest me, officer? Ain't illegal to look," he throws over his shoulder.

 

"What I'm gonna do is _wreck_ you," Shane promises, low and hot and _filthy_. "Shit, I've been thinkin' about that mouth wrapped around my cock for _weeks_ , Rovia. I've heard some stories about it, too. Sounds like you're quite the little whore."

 

"Only for the right guy," Jesus quips with a cheeky grin. "That what you want, Walsh? A little whore? I can be that for you."

 

"I just bet you could," Shane growls. He twists one of Jesus' arms up behind his back and marches him around the back of the building, away from prying eyes and curious minds. The back door is unlocked, and Jesus wonders if Shane planned this specifically, because no one ever comes into the dusty, dim storage room he's shoved into. He hears the click of the lock and grins, already slipping out of his trench coat and laying it carefully over a nearby chair before he's unbuckling his belts.

 

"You really do baby that thing," Shane mentions. Any response Jesus might have come up with is silenced by the slow, teasing sound of a zipper being undone. When he turns around to look, Shane already has the folds pulled back and his boxers out of the way, one hand wrapped loosely around his cock and a smirk on his face. When Jesus gets his first look at what the other man has to offer, his mouth goes dry and his hole clenches.

 

"Oh yeah," he rasps, needing and wanton and not even caring. "I'll be a whore for that _any_ day."

 

"And here I thought you liked me for my smile," Shane chuckles. The slightest dip of his head sends Jesus to his knees and compels him to _crawl_ until he's mouthing down the thick cock and licking Shane fingers out of the way with a moan.

 

"You have many good qualities," he whispers into the musky curls at the base of Shane’s dick. "Your smile is only one of them."

 

"My dick's another?" The man's laugh stutters into a moan when Jesus opens his mouth wide and swallows that impressive, thick, gorgeous cock whole. He feels it slide down his throat and moans around the girth, reaching down to fumble out of his jeans and paw at his own trapped cock. He whines and fucks into the tunnel of his fist, already so wet that he doesn't worry about chafing, because he's smearing his own pre-cum down the length of himself and rutting with a frantic whine. He chokes when Shane pushes his head down a little further, drool rolling down his chin and dripping from his beard.

 

"Shit, you are good at this," Shane grunts. Jesus preens at the compliment, smiling around his mouthful and looking up through his lashes at the man. Shane growls when he sees it, fingers tightening in Jesus' long hair as he fucks the younger man's face with a little more force. His throat is going up be raw and sore after this, and he's probably going to be raspy from the constant push-and-pull of Shane’s cock shoving down his willing throat again and again, but he welcomes it; tips his head and opens his throat a little wider as he frantically shoves his jeans down far enough to slip three barely-wet fingers back and press the tips into his clenching, greedy hole.

 

"Got ya that wound up, sweetheart?" Shane croons. He pets through Jesus' hair, gripping with less force and rocking forward with a grin. He holds himself there until Jesus' vision gets spotty before pulling back. Strings of saliva and pre-cum follow, keeping them connected until Jesus licks them up. He's coughing and panting, sucking in air, but ultimately he's too eager. He swallows Shane down again and fucks his fingers up into himself, not even caring about the burn because he's too goddamn desperate to be ready for the man to make good on his promise. Jesus wants Shane to fucking _destroy_ him, and with a cock like that coupled with the man's drive for perfection, and the prowess Jesus has heard mentioned from a few mouths - he's not the only whore in Hilltop it would seem - he's more than eager for the _real_ fun to begin.

 

Shane’s gone suddenly, and he whines at the loss before he's dragged to his feet and slammed down over the closest piece of furniture. It's the perfect height, bending him at the waist, and he's gearing up to _beg_ when Shane suddenly licks into him, his wicked tongue curling and fucking in and out of his loosened hole until Jesus is biting the sleeve of his shirt to try and muffle his scream.

 

" _Fuck me_ ," he moans, not even caring how needy he sounds because god _damn_ is Walsh good at what he does when he really puts his mind to it. "C'mon, give me what I came here for."

 

"You ain't gonna be able to _walk_ when I'm done with you," the man growls directly against his spasming hole. That's all the warning Jesus gets before three slicked-up fingers are pumping into him, thicker than his own and stretching him until his eyes blur and his cock spits milky droplets of cum against the filthy sheet that covers the nightstand he's bent over. He keens through his orgasm, his muscles rippling and clenching around the fingers curling inside of him until he seizes up and comes _again_. There's no break between them and it _hurts_ in the best way. His words are a disjointed, jumbled mess of pleas and demands as he spreads his legs and arches his hips, rolling back again and again until the press of Shane’s knuckles threatens to stretch him even more.

 

"Now," he moans raggedly, greedy and flaying apart for Shane to mold him anew. The fingers withdraw and his hole aches hotly from the emptiness; his sobs are relieved when the wet head of Shane cock presses past his rim with no warning. He chokes on his own bitter-tasting spit when the rest follows in a smooth, relentless push that sends him up onto his booted toes and makes him claw at the edge of the nightstand - desperate for something to hold onto as he plummets off the edge of the cliff and into the churning seas of shameless, wanton greed. Shane is a dominant fucker, and cocky as all hell, but _fucking_ _shit_ the man knows what to do to unravel a person in all the best fucking ways.

 

"What was that? Couldn't hear you," the man in question purrs in his ear. Jesus grits his teeth and whines when he feels the fucking perfect cock inside him scrape over his prostate. Stars burst behind his eyelids, whiting out the world, and all he can do is hold on weakly and brace himself the best he can when Shane grabs his hips hard enough to bruise and starts fucking him so hard that Jesus forgets what the hell words are.

 

"Hnnngh," he whimpers, digging his nails into the cloth-covered wood hard and not even registering the pain of them bending back as he bucks and writhes and tilts his hips up for more the best he can. Shane is relentless, every powerful slam knocking his thighs against the nightstand until he knows he's going to have bruises all over his lower body. He'll look at them for days, maybe press his fingertips into the dark smudges until it _aches_ , and remember. He's gonna fucking get himself off to the memories of this for _years_ , and maybe when his brain's not trying to melt out of his ears he'll even be able to ask Shane for another round. And another. And _another_.

 

Fuck, no one's cock will ever compare again.

 

Shane grunts, and Jesus feels him nose his hair to the side. He's gearing up for anything, begging with the arch of his body because he can't form the words, and when blunt teeth catch and grip on the top knob of his spine, he screams against the dusty sheet and comes so hard he might actually black out for a moment.

 

He comes to and feels Shane licking the bite like he's trying to clean it - like he’s a fucking mutt soothing the hurt he's inflicted, and Jesus wheezes as he tries to remember how breathing works. He can feel wetness down the backs of his thighs, so much it makes him whine and clench his muscles to try and keep in what's left. He reaches back as soon as there's space, swiping his fingers through the cum and shoving it back inside. Shane watches him ride his own fingers; slips two in alongside his three until Jesus chokes on a ragged scream from the pressure. It makes him imagine what taking Shane’s whole fucking fist will feel like, and suddenly he's desperate to find out.

 

"Mission fuckin' accomplished," he hisses. Shane twists his fingers, and Jesus chokes when his cock throbs and his hole spasms. "Shit, fuck, enough," he begs, and he hears the man's low, satisfied chuckle as he steps back. Jesus tucks his hands under his chest, pushing up slowly, and revels in the soreness and ache of a good, hard fuck. His hole feels too wide and too empty, but if Shane had another round in him, Jesus might honestly die.

 

"Told you," Walsh chuckles, and then careful hands are helping him stand up the rest of the way. He lets Shane pull up his boxers and pants, feeling the way they stick to his sweaty, dirty skin, and he shivers happily. He manages to button up his shirt on his own, and accepts his coat when Shane picks it up and hands it over to him with a surprising amount if care.

 

"It was my dad's," he finds himself muttering. Shane doesn't laugh, or look sympathetic. He just nods and cracks open the door until they get used to the light enough for him to let it spill in unhindered. He hooks his fingers around the chain Jesus has never seen him take off, lifting it until sunlight glances off the _22_ charm and makes it gleam.

 

"Gift from a man who meant the world to me," he supplies. He doesn't elaborate, and Jesus doesn't ask. He waits a moment, letting his eyes adjust completely, and steps out past Shane. He bites back a yelp when his ass is smacked hard enough to make him stumble, the pain radiating through him and mixing with pleasure until he bites back another needier sound.

 

"Guess I didn't do my job right, if you can still walk."

 

"Guess you'll have to try again," Jesus shoots back with a smirk. Shane laughs, deep and rich, and nods with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

 

"Guess I will," he agrees. "Challenge accepted, Rovia. You'd better be ready."


End file.
